How It Feels to Fly(58)

“Oh.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry, this is coming out all wrong.”

“It’s okay. I asked you. I needed to know.”

What he’s saying—it changes so much. He didn’t dump me because of how I look. We broke up because I’ve been such a mess emotionally. And now I’m working on that. I’m getting better. I can be ready to be with . . . whoever’s next.

Marcus yawns again. I can picture it, widemouthed like a lion. He always had yawns that looked so satisfying. “So are we cool?” he asks when he’s done.

“Yeah.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re getting some help.”

“Me too.”

“All right, Sam. I gotta get up early.”

“Good night, Marcus.” It feels more like good-bye, but I don’t mind as much as I thought I would.

“Night.” He hangs up.

My phone goes dark.

“That was . . . interesting,” Zoe stage-whispers from the couch. “Did you really think a guy dumped you because you were fat?”

“Yeah. I really did.”

Zoe snorts. “Well, I guess now you know.” She checks the time on her phone. “Anyone else you want to wake up and grill?”

I think about calling Bianca. But she’s at her ballet intensive, and I don’t want her to be too exhausted to dance well tomorrow. And anyway, I don’t know what I need to say to her. I think I need to apologize . . . but for what? And how?

I log in to my email, scrolling past the spam until I find a message from Bianca, from Sunday night: Hey, Sam-a-lam-a!

Just wanted to say hi, and let you know I’m thinking about you. I miss you. Wish you were here.

I just got settled in my room in TWSB’s dorms. My roommate is from San Francisco. She spent last year at San Francisco Ballet School! So I’m getting all the West Coast gossip. I’ll fill you in next time we talk.

Can you call? Or text? Or email? Do they have you on total lockdown? What’s it like there? Inquiring minds want to know!

Seriously, though, I hope it’s helping. I’m here if you want to talk.

Whatever, whenever.

Love, B

Like always, Bianca ends her message with a ton of random emoji. This time, it’s the sunglasses smiley, a cat with heart eyes, the dancing woman in the red dress, a flower, a duckling, and the Easter Island statue. I smile at the screen, hitting “reply.”

Zoe clears her throat. “Time to wrap it up. Sorry.”

“Okay.” I type in:

Miss you too! So much. Lots to fill you in on, but no time now. Not supposed to be online. Xoxo, Sam.

I wait for it to send, then turn off my phone and drop it into the drawer Zoe’s holding open.

“Glad you came with me?”

“Yes. Have you brought anyone else down here?”

“Just you.”

“Why me?”

“No real reason.” She pauses. Shrugs. “Thanks for the key chain. Sorry for talking about your butt in front of everyone.”

“How did you know I’d need to make a phone call?”

“Everyone needs to call someone,” she says, and walks out the door.

WE START THE next morning on the college’s tennis court. Zoe’s supposed to be teaching us the rules of the game so that we can play a friendly match. Her challenge is about remembering that tennis isn’t just parent-mandated work. It’s also a game—one she happens to be really good at.

She does seem to be having fun, judging by the insults she’s sending our way. “Afraid of the ball, Ice Princess?” she shouts at Jenna, who’s just ducked away from a hard serve.

I watch as Andrew jogs over to Zoe. He puts his hands on her shoulders. Says something, staring her down. She nods, hands on hips. Says something back.

“He’s so good with her,” Yasmin says to Dr. Lancaster. They’re standing a few feet away. My back is to them. I keep scooping up tennis balls into a bucket. I keep listening. “She responds to Andrew,” Yasmin goes on. “I can’t get her to say two civil words to me.”

“Different campers need different types of interactions from authority figures,” Dr. Lancaster says. “Zoe needs what Andrew offers. But you and Omar seem to have hit it off.”

“He’s a great kid. And we have performing in common.”

“You told me Katie confides in you too.”

“Yeah. She reminds me of my little sister.”

I’ve been lingering near them too long. I’m out of tennis balls to pick up. I should move away. But I want to hear more. I want to hear whether they’ll say anything about Andrew and me. Have they noticed the time he spends with me?

“Ballerina Barbie! Get over here!” Zoe yells. Reluctantly I jog in her direction. “Show ’em how it’s done,” she says, tossing me a racket. I fumble in catching it. I take one of the balls from my bucket. I throw it in the air and, almost entirely by luck, serve it over the net. “Yes!” Zoe crows. “Let’s all do it like that, okay?”

She lines us up, each with a few balls, and has us practice serving. I throw, swing, hit. Throw, swing, hit. Throw, swing, hit. Some serves go into the net. A few sail over, like the first one.

I woke up this morning feeling lighter. Like jumping in the lake and then talking to Marcus helped me shed a thick, heavy layer of myself.